The Takedown
by Pearcem
Summary: Valentine Morgenstern: renowned business man, billionaire, and a criminal. Anything goes to fatten his bank account. And he's not above selling off his daughter to the highest bidder to further himself, his business, and anything in between.
1. Prologue

Valentine Morgenstern sat back in his leather chair, admiring the desk before him, splayed with every sort of document—money transfers, revenue reports, proposals, memos; you name it—and seemingly me, as I sat opposite him.

My father was studying me. I could tell. I just didn't know what he was gleaning from my face.

I wondered if he was seeing my Mom in me. Or if he was seeing the girl who'd taken so much after him—who had, without a second thought, shunned her brother, who had sabotaged a reporter's career.

"Consider it, Clarissa," he cocked his head to the side, hands steepled under his chin, still assessing me.

"It's pointless, Dad," I said, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in my chair. "I understand that this auction will widely benefit the charity and provide publicity for the company, but I have no idea how that correlates to me having to participate."

"You know how the press love to see those higher up on the food chain getting down on their hands and knees for the less fortunate," he said matter-of-factly. "And not to mention, how much money you would raise for the charity."

"Fine," I nodded tersely, avoiding his gaze. I wasn't even entirely sure what he was trying to say; only that he wasn't going to relent on this matter.

Valentine smiled a humourless smile at me. "Wonderful. I'll let the organizers know."

* * *

When I stepped out onto the runway-style stage, I peered out at the crowd, searching for my Mom in the crowd, only to instead come across my father sitting as far back as he could get, in a very, very dimly lit alcove of a table. He was scowling at me.

I smirked a little triumphant smirk and put a hand on my hip, feeling particularly proud. And not just of the silk black dress that was so tight I briefly wondered how I even managed to get the thing on without tearing it—Valentine had suggested I wear "that silver dress you wore to the Mayor's."

A suggestion I'd blatantly ignored.

I simply stood there, not entirely paying attention as the bid got higher and higher until someone around the middle of the crowd shouted out "seventy-five thousand!" and no one challenged it.

I tried not to squint as I once again stared out at the crowd. I couldn't tell who it was that'd shouted out that ridiculously large bid.

"Going once! Going twice! Going three times, to the man in the white tuxedo!" The woman at the podium shouted brightly, pointing to a blond man who was looking _just a little_ smug about his win.

"Congratulations," I said, stopping before him. I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Even with the heels. I was about to continue with something witty about how he had won a date with one of New York's most eligible bachelorette and _charming_ personality, when he looked me up and down, and I didn't care if I technically was a prize; I would not be treated like such. I was not here for his _viewing pleasure_.

"Yes I would say so."

"Hey," I snapped loudly, putting my hands on my hips. "My eyes are _up here_."

My Dad clapped a hand on my shoulder, fingers tightening ever so slightly as he gave an easy smile. "Easy, Clarissa. I'm sure the boy meant no harm."

"I don't give a fu—"

Valentine shot me a stern look, daring me to say something else crude or bold and see where that got me. He stuck out his hand, "Valentine Morgenstern."

"Yes, I'm aware," the blond smirked, shaking my father's hand. He looked too good-looking. Like, unrealistically so.

"Clarissa," Valentine glanced down at me, disapprovingly and as if he could have forgotten I was there had his hand not been on my shoulder. "Could you give us a moment? I believe your mother wanted to speak with you." I rolled my eyes. Fine. If my father was going to treat me like a bothersome child, I would act like one; I stomped away, feeling my cheeks heat in my anger.

I didn't see my mother, but then again, I wasn't really looking. The room was so big, and so filled, and just dim enough to give it a hazy glow, I didn't know if I would be able to spot her bright hair if I tried. So I didn't.

I stood there, my arms crossed over my chest, eyes boring a hole into the side of that blond's head. He and my father shook hands; I scrutinized them as they conversed, trying to read their lips. But I'd always been bad at that.

I watched closely and with my eyes narrowed as he weaved neatly through the crowd—towards me. He didn't stop in front of me, and I wasn't sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn't for him to wrap his around my waist and start tugging me through the crowd, all of them beaming at me—at the image we must present: Clarissa Morgenstern, wrapped up in what could only be a model. And a popular one at that if he spent that much money for a date.

"I'm not sure if you were aware," he whispered, leaning his head in close to mine. "But your father just sold your hand in marriage."

"What are you—?"

"What I'm talking about is I thought I was just bidding on a date with the daughter of one of New York's biggest criminals."

I stared up at him, bewildered. I didn't bother to look where we were going—it was up to him to make sure we didn't walk into anything. I was a little distracted.

"Instead I bid for her hand in marriage. And won."


	2. Chapter One

**I kind of made a playlist for Clary:**

 **\- Woman by Kesha**

 **\- Bad Bitch by Bebe Rexha**

 **\- Power (feat. Stormzy) by Little Mix**

 **\- Seven Nation Army by The White Stripes**

 **\- Hot Mess by Cobra Starship**

 **\- Prom Queen by Molly Kate Kestner**

* * *

I didn't really remember getting into the limo with him—my mind was far too busy trying to comprehend what he'd just said. My father was ruthless sure, but human trafficking? Selling off his daughter to the highest bidder at the "Win-A-Date" auction he was hosting? I didn't think even _he_ was that ruthless.

But I wondered for a split second how well I really knew him. He was my father, and I knew what that meant to me—but what did it mean to Valentine Morgenstern?

I leaned back against the leather seat, feeling the coolness of it. "How are you so sure?" I cocked a brow at him. Crossed my leg over the other. "Hate to break it to you, Pretty Boy, but I'm pretty sure you only won a date."

He laughed, the sound sharp and piercing in the near silence in the car. "How am I sure? He told me—congratulated me on winning your hand in marriage."

"I don't…That's impossible." I didn't believe him. My Dad, harsh as he could be…he'd never really turned that heartlessness on me, why would he start now?

"Is it?" He regarded me curiously. I thought about it. This would have been the perfect opportunity for my father to do something like this if, hypothetically, he really had wanted to. No one would suspect anything strange of his daughter leaving the event with the guy; no one would think anything other than that it was a little sudden if they got married a short while later. No one would think anything of there being money involved, after all they'd been at an _auction_.

"Oh my god," I whispered, dropping my head into my hands. Through the spaces between my fingers, I stared at my shoes, at the French manicure on my toes, at the black barb carpeting on the floor.

He laughed again, and even if it didn't sound like he found any of this funny, if he did it one more time I was going to slap him. "It's the perfect cover."

"No shit," I snapped, vehemently fighting back tears. Crying wasn't going to do me any favours. Tears would not fix anything.

I could feel his eyes on me, but I wasn't going to look up. "I am trying to help you."

My head shot up, colour blooming on my cheeks and rage pumping through my veins. "Help me?! What are you gonna do? What could _you_ possibly do to fix anything?" I glared at him, and he glared right back. We stayed like that, unaware that we'd leaned forward even though we were much closer together than we had been a second ago, our eyes locked. His cheekbones were bright pink to match mine, and as I stared I noticed the unusual colour of his eyes: gold. Like honey.

Neither of us relented our glaring. His eyes bored into mine and I was resisting the urge to slap him. Still.

I tilted my head to the side. "You have no idea how you're going to help, do you?"

I noticed the tick of a muscle in his jaw with great pleasure.

I was getting to him, getting under his skin.

I laughed softly.

When his glare intensified, I leaned back in my seat. "What? You don't like it when _I_ laugh?"

He sat back, too, and ignored my comment. "We have to figure this out."

I gave him a look like, _Really, you don't think I knew that?_

He gave _me_ a look then, too.

The rest of the ride to wherever the hell we were headed passed in stony, angry silence. When the limo pulled up to a curb, he opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, and I was fully prepared to sit in the car for the rest of the night with my arms crossed when his hand reached back into the car.

I stared at it.

He poked his head in. "Well are you coming or not?"

I took his hand, letting go of it as soon as I was out. I took the lead, wondering if the extra little sway to my hips looked too exaggerated. Or if it was just enough.

I went straight to the elevator, glad to see he was following behind me and I hadn't gone the complete wrong direction—though I'm not sure how that could've happened seeing as there wasn't much else place to go than to the concierge desk.

I looked to him expectantly. He leaned over to press the button for the twenty-seventh floor. No one spoke and the elevator didn't make any extra stops on the way up. He went out first, and as I was halfway out, he turned around and said—like it was an afterthought—"I'm Jace, by the way."

"Nice to know."

* * *

"Why'd you bring me _here_?" I stopped just inside the doorway of what, at first glance, appeared to be a lavish penthouse. Why a penthouse? How in the hell was bringing me to a _penthouse_ going to solve all our problems?

Jace looked back at me, "why do you _think_ we're here?" Before I could answer he turned away and continued further into the room, stopping at the beginning of a hallway. "Well come on," he said impatiently, gesturing to the hallway.

"What?" I snorted. "You're going to take your bride to bed?"

He rolled his eyes, deadpanning: "yes, absolutely. Now come on, I'll show you your room."

I followed him, albeit grudgingly. I wasn't sure how much I trusted him, how much I _should_ trust him. I'd met him less than an hour ago, after all.

My room was, apparently, the very last one at the end of the hall. He turned to head to his room, which was as far away from mine as he could get—the other end of the rather short hall, which seemed a little ridiculous to me. I didn't snore _that_ loud.

I was still watching him as he opened his door. "Look, we'll talk about this in the morning. We've got a lot to talk about. We've got to figure out a lot. Like how this is going to work, for example. And I don't want to do that right now."

"And why's that?"

"Because I've already had my fill of you for the night."

I thought that was a little petty, considering I had just been _sold_ to him. I told him as much.

He sighed. "Clarissa, if it hadn't been me, it would've been someone else."

"So what, I should just be _thankful_ that you _bought_ me?" I demanded, incredulous.

He stared at me, pink blooming across his cheeks. Good, he was getting angry. He should be angry. As angry as I still felt.

"I think you should be a little grateful, yeah," he sounded like he was restraining himself. "Did you even actually notice anyone else who bid on you? Hmm?!" His lips were pursed and his eyebrows raised at me expectantly.

I didn't deign to respond.

"Because they were all old men, each of them looking at you like a meal instead of a person. And how much do you want to bet if it was one of them that by now they'd be trying to coax you into bed?"

I couldn't look him directly in the eyes—so I looked just above them, so it looked like I was still looking him in the eyes as I stood stoically. God, maybe if I had just paid some damn attention tonight, I wouldn't be in this situation.

But that felt highly unlikely, because it seemed like my father had planned this down to a T.

I didn't notice when Jace went into his room, but I noticed when he slammed his door.

* * *

The next morning, I felt exhausted. I'd tossed and turned all night long and no amount of rearranging the pillows had helped. So I'd texted Simon and played Piano Tiles until my phone battery died—which hadn't taken very long, mind you.

It was bright outside, the sun shining through the windows in fat, buttery beams. I looked around the penthouse, at the gray-ish sectional and dark wood coffee table where the remotes were lined up exactly, one next to the other.

So he was a neat freak.

I wondered how long it'd take him to notice if I left. Judging from absolute dead silence within the apartment, a long time.

I debated it for a while, just standing there staring at nothing as I thought. I was so angry at my father, and yet, I didn't entirely believe it—that he would do something like this, especially to me.

But he had.

And I needed to—I didn't know what I needed to do. All I could feel was this burning rage and it made me want to kick and scream and punch things. I felt like tearing that flat screen off the wall and throwing it at the windows.

But I wasn't going to do that. I took a deep breath. I hadn't noticed a phone lying around anywhere, and mine was dead—but I was going to talk to him, one way or another.

I spun on my heel, heading towards the hall. I stopped at the first door on my left. Jace's room. I might really regret this if he caught me.

I opened the door, as slow as I possibly could. If it squeaked, I was screwed. Jace tossed around in his bed, and I took note of the impressive biceps, of the messy blond curls that just did things to a girl.

My eyes darted around the room, searching frantically. I didn't plan to stay in here long, and I didn't think I'd need to, because sitting right on top of his dresser, was his phone. If this thing had a passcode, I was screwed.

I snatched it and tried not to slam the door shut in my hurry.

I couldn't believe it—he didn't have a passcode. And quite frankly, I didn't care so long as I could use it. I went to the phone app and dialed in my father's number. I knew it by heart, and I didn't think I'd ever forget.

It only had to ring four times before he answered.

"Good morning, Clarissa. I trust all is well."

My anger was suddenly a fire burning in me, burning up all the oxygen in my lungs as I spoke. " _All is well_? Are you kidding me? You deserve to burn in Hell, you know."

He continued on as if I hadn't spoken at all, "Was your evening with Jonathan good?" _Jonathan_? Was that what Jace had told my father his name was?

"What're you going to do when I go to the cops, Dad? Huh? What _ever_ will you do when they come knocking at the door?"

The line went quiet a moment, and I wondered if he hung up on me when his voice suddenly became lower, noticeably more serious than it had been. "You are not going to tell anyone, Clarissa. You are going to tell your mother—you are going to tell _everyone_ , that the two of you hit it off after you went on a date after the auction. You are going to tell them all in a few months that Jonathan proposed, and we'll be done with this."

"And what do you think you can do to keep me from telling them the truth? From going to the cops, _Dad_?"

"Oh, Clarissa, how sweet. You think I'm bluffing." He paused. "I'll put it simply, sweetheart: your mother might have an accident. Trip and fall down the stairs, slip in the shower, mugged while she's out shopping. Or, perhaps, you'd like your brother to have a run in with someone he owes a pretty large sum to?"

I didn't respond. I didn't say anything. What _could_ I say?

"Ah, I knew you'd see sense, darling." He chuckled a little. "Until next time, Clarissa."

* * *

 **What'd you guys think? This was a little bit of a filler chapter before the real action starts.**


	3. Chapter Two

**Y'all, I am positively overwhelmed with excitement that you're all loving the story! Like every time I get a new review, I squeal.**

 **Also, if anyone has song suggestions for Jace's character, leave them in your review! (I'm kinda thinking, like, Strip That Down by Liam Payne. Thoughts?)**

* * *

I pitched the phone at the wall when the line went dead. I didn't care that it wasn't mine—I was absolutely, positively seething. And who the hell was this guy to think he didn't need to have a passcode on his phone?

I stood behind the couch for a minute, arms crossed over my chest that was rising and falling rapidly. Then I remembered something Jace had said last night in the limo. _What I'm talking about is I thought I was just bidding on a date with the daughter of one of New York's biggest criminals._

 _Why_ did he think my father was a criminal? And how would he know, if it was even true?

I was too antsy to sit around waiting for Jace to wake up in his own time. I wanted answers, and I wanted them now.

It took me literal seconds to come face to face with the white bedroom door. I began to pound my fists against it, loud and hard. "Rise and shine, sunshine!" I shouted. "It's a beautiful day to get the fuck out of bed!"

He pulled open the door a moment later, expression caught between grogginess, annoyance, and a glare. "Can I help you, Clarissa?"

"I really hope so, _Jonathan_." I glared right back at him.

He looked mighty startled by the name.

"Where did you hear that name?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," I pressed a hand to my chest in feinted sympathy. "Is that not the name you gave my father when you bought _me from him_?!"

He rubbed his temples, a look on his face that made me think he was considering taping my mouth closed. "Oh my God. It's not even nine a.m. and I'm already sick of you."

I swatted at his still-bare chest. "Not the time!"

"But it's time for me to get up?" He questioned and then sighed and leaned against the door, his arms crossed and his expression mostly annoyance at this point. "Is there something you needed?"

I gave him a disbelieving look. "Are you kidding me? I literally just said that."

"Be more specific."

"Why did you tell me last night that my father was one of New York's biggest criminals?"

He shifted, avoiding my eyes suddenly. I waited, eyebrows raised at him. "Because he is." He looked back up at me, eyes narrowed slightly. "What did you _think_ I meant?"

I wondered if he was talking about that hit and run my Dad had been involved in—but I highly doubted that would prompt someone to call you "one of New York's biggest criminals".

"I don't know!" I hissed. After a moment, I propped my hands on my hips. "I think you have a little explaining to do."

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding, and stepped around me, walking straight through the living room into the open kitchen. He went for the coffee machine, putting a mug under it and I leaned against the counter.

"Well, start talking."

He leaned against the counter beside the coffee machine and I trained my eyes on his to stop myself from looking at his very prominent abs. "You know why I gave Valentine the name Jonathan?"

I gave him a look that said, _How in the hell am I supposed to know that?_

"It was because I'm sure he would have recognized my name. My last name, I mean. My looks are enough of a giveaway already." He paused, punching a few buttons on the machine. "My real name is Jace Herondale. I've been going by Jonathan Wayland since I got back to New York."

"Why?" I asked. He was looking at me like him telling me his last name was supposed to connect some magical dots in my brain.

"Because I didn't want your father getting suspicious because the son of the man he murdered was back in town."

I gaped at him. " _Murdered_?"

He pulled the mug away from the machine. He gave me a tight lipped smile. "Didn't think Daddy Dearest was capable of murder?" Jace took a drink from the mug. He chuckled. "I'm not entirely sure why you're all that surprised. You know, the whole selling-you-off-to-the-highest-bidder thing considered."

"I thought it was a Win-A-Date," I glared at him.

He mocked a smile. "Oh, it was—just not for you." He paused and then: "You do know that human trafficking is illegal, right?"

I rolled my eyes, impatient and fed-up. "I thought I pointed that out last night, but apparently you weren't listening."

"You're right; I was too distracted by your hair." He smirked at me before me took another sip.

I flipped him off. "Well why would you coming back to town make him suspicious?"

"Because he obviously worked pretty hard to cover up what he did—especially if you didn't know—and I bet he thinks the only person who could ruin that is me. Considering that my dad uncovered a lot of pretty incriminating stuff on yours."

I cocked my head. "And how did he manage that?"

"He was a lawyer. A damn good one, at that. Valentine hired him for a case some ten years ago, so he had access to all sorts of stuff about Morgenstern Industries. He never told me much, but mind you, I was ten so."

"Are you telling me that he found out—that your dad dug up enough to take down Valentine?"

Jace nodded, a grin tugging up the corners of his lips. He had that same smug expression as last night when he won the auction. Then the expression fell. "There's only one issue we have to deal with first, however."

I raised my eyebrows in question.

"Everything my dad uncovered went missing the day he was murdered. I'm guessing Valentine had it destroyed."

"Well," I started, chewing at my bottom as I thought. "I could start by looking through my father's files, but—"

"Yes! You can sneak into his files. There has to be _something_ there on Stephen Herondale."

"That might be an issue."

Jace half gaped at me. "Why would that be an issue? Don't you have like, total security clearance or something? You _work_ there. You were his _successor_."

I stalked over to where his phone had landed on the living floor after I'd pitched it at the wall earlier. I handed the now- completely shattered device to him as I said, "I called him."

" _So_?" His eyes were bulging at the sight of his phone screen.

"I threatened to call the cops on him."

"And are you going to?"

"I can't."

"Of course you can, what're you talking about? I'm sure I can dig up some evidence to prove that he sold you off."

"Well, for one, Jace, I'm pretty sure you'd be in the wrong in that situation, too, considering you _bought me_. And he blackmailed me."

Jace glanced at me tentatively. "What does he have to blackmail you with? You didn't get mad and throw someone at a wall I hope."

"He threatened to hurt my mom. And then he immediately proceeded to threaten my brother."

"Christ," he raked his hands through his already-disheveled hair. "You shouldn't have called."

" _Really_? I had no idea. Could you please point out more blatantly obvious things for me?"

"Clari—"

"Oh, I know! Why don't you tell me that lamp shines light and I'll act surprised!"

He studied me for a second. "How about I tell you how difficult you are instead, and you try and deny it."

I took a step towards him. I put a hand on his shoulder and tilted my head back to meet his eyes. "We will be discussing this further when I get back."

He arched a brow at me. "Where are you going?"

I glanced back at him over my shoulder as I headed for the elevator, pulling my bank card from my bra. I had completely forgotten I'd shoved it in there last night. "You didn't think I'd just walk around in this dress for who knows how long, did you?"

He smirked up at me from under unfairly long lashes. "I was hoping."

I rolled my eyes despite the fact that he couldn't see it. "I'll pay for that, by the way." I gestured to the broken phone in his hand, grinning slightly, as the elevator doors closed between us.

* * *

My original plan had been to go out and buy some new clothes, I mean that was the whole reason I'd whipped my bank card out of my bra in front of Jace (well, not the _whole_ reason). But now that just seemed kind of ridiculous. I mean, really, what was the probability that anyone would be home to see me gathering up a crap-ton of clothes? My mom would likely be out at brunch or shopping with her book club, my father would be at work, and Sebastian was never home. He hadn't been in years.

So I caught a cab and told the driver my address. The ride was fairly short, only after he'd started driving away did I realize I didn't have my keys—I hadn't been thinking I would be leaving the event last night with whoever won a date with me. But, clearly, things were a little different now.

I knocked on the door, and a minute later one of the cleaning ladies answered. She smiled at me and teased me for forgetting my keys; I laughed and headed up the stairs to my room. I'd been a few paychecks away from having saved up enough money to buy my own house—and not something huge like this one. I had been thinking something medium sized, maybe small if it was spacious. I'd been saving for nearly three years now, and I felt cheated now—because if I had to marry Jace, then wasn't I also expected to live with him?

I kicked my heels off and went to plug my phone in. I hoped it would at least charge some before I had to unplug it again.

I began grabbing handfuls of clothes, shoving them into my suitcases, into backpacks, I didn't care. I even grabbed a few mementos—like all the pictures hanging up, sitting on my dresser, my makeup, my jewellery collection, shoes. Honestly, I just grabbed as much as I could.

I was in the middle of sitting on my suitcase to try and zip it closed it had so much junk in it when a voice startled me.

"Clary, what're you doing home?" I spun around, hoping I didn't have that deer-caught-in-headlights look on my face. "Shouldn't you be at work? Why are you packing a bag? Are you going out of town? Why didn't you tell me?"

The instinct came to me instantly: lie. "Oh, hey Mom. I was just—well, me and Simon were going to go"—I sighed—"…he's dragging me to a comic convention in LA tomorrow. Thought I'd get a head start on packing."

"Head start?" My Mom laughed. "If you're leaving tomorrow, this is a little last minute."

It felt like my heart was caught in my throat as I spoke, and I thought I might just choke on it. I forced myself to roll my eyes and muttered, " _Simon's_ a little last minute."

She shook her head, still laughing softly. "Here, let me help you honey." She grabbed the zipper, pulling it along with ease while I was still perched atop the suitcase, slightly out of breath from struggling with it for so long.

She smiled at me, and then pressed a swift kiss to my temple. "I've got to get going—I'm meeting Maryse at Chanel. But I'll see you when you get back. Love you!" She called as the clicks of her heels sounded down the hall.

I flunked onto my bed, only capable of thinking of how devastated she would be to discover all of her husband's misdeeds when I put him behind bars—where he belonged if Jace was to be trusted.

* * *

 **The amount of eyebrow raising so far is not okay guys. Next chapter is gonna be so much fun, guys. I'm so excited.**

 **Again, song recommendations for Jace's character (even if we don't know a whole lot about him yet), or Clary's are welcome/appreciated!**


	4. Chapter Three

**Ah! This was such a fun chapter to write, I hope you guys enjoy it!**

 **And I thought I might mention some new songs I found that I thought fit with the story:**

 **\- Horns by by Bryce Fox**

 **\- New Rules by Dua Lipa**

* * *

As soon as I heard the front door close, I shot up and grabbed my phone. It was only at thirteen percent. I groaned, pressing the phone app and dialing Simon's number.

"Hey Clary," I could hear the smile in his voice. "I found this awesome game we n—"

"Simon, hey," I felt my lips curve upwards despite my situation. "Do you think you could do me a favour?"

He sighed. "Who'd you murder this time?"

I laughed. "No one, as far as I'm aware—but those drinks last night were pretty strong…so who knows."

"What'd did you need?"

"Um…" I bit my lip. I felt bad asking him this, even more so because I wasn't going to tell him what was going on. "If my mom asks, I left on a plane with you tonight, and we were in LA all weekend for a comic convention. Oh, and but before we got on the plane, I had to stop by work and grab something."

I swear I could hear his frown. "Uh, I mean, sure. But why?"

I ran a hand through my hair, just noticing my anxious pacing. I made myself stop, propping a hand on my hip.

 _Because it's the perfect alibi_ , I wanted to say, but I couldn't say that—it would ruin everything. So instead, "I just…don't want her to worry" came out.

"Okay, but why would she worry? Should _I_ worry?"

"No Simon, god no—I'm spending the weekend with that this guy that won a date with me at the auction last night." And just for extra believability, I added: "He's _really_ hot, Simon."

Simon coughed, and if it didn't sound as fake as my mother's butt implants were… "Yeah, got it—talk to you later, Clary." Then he hung up. I brought the phone down from my ear, staring at the screen like it'd somehow offended me simply by telling me that the call had ended. I took a deep breath, wondering if I did the right thing.

Whatever. I didn't have time to think about this—I needed to get to that file.

I began rooting through my bags for something to wear. Kicking off my heels, I did my best to shimmy and shrug out of my uber-tight dress, letting it pool by my feet. I changed into a lacy black kind of push-up bra and matching undies because it made me feel good. Then I pulled on a pair of high-waisted black dress pants and tucked a deeply v-necked white shirt into the pants and pulled it out a little. When I paired that with a different pair of black heels than the ones I'd been wearing, I had to say—I looked hot as hell. Especially with my hair still curled all pretty from last night, falling in thick red waves around my face.

I shoved my phone into one of my pockets, my lanyard into the other, and piled all my bags onto my arms, wobbling my way out to my car. There are no words to describe the relief my arms felt when I finally made it and dumped all the bags into my trunk and backseat.

I got into my car, adjusting the rear-view mirror and connecting my phone via Bluetooth to the speakers and smiled when New Rules started playing.

* * *

No one gave me a second glance when I walked through the sliding glass doors and past the receptionist's desk, scanning my ID. Well, I should say no one gave me a _suspicious_ glance, actually.

I went up to my office, checking a few things on my laptop and then signing out so no one could snoop. I popped a piece of bubble mint gum into my mouth. And then another.

I was on my way out, staring down at my phone as I read a text from Simon when I nearly ran face-first into my father's chest. I looked up, a little dazed, then took a step back.

"Clarissa," he sounded slightly surprised. "What're you doing here?"

"I still work here, don't I?" I asked, arching a brow at him but forcing a note of vulnerability, of faint fear, into my voice.

I thought he might smile. He didn't. "Of course." Then he turned and headed for the elevator he must have just vacated if he was on his way into my office.

I got in with him. "But I'm leaving for LA in a few hours; I just wanted to check on some stuff."

He glanced down at me, a plainly bored expression on his harsh face. I wanted to punch him. Who the hell was Valentine Morgenstern to think he could just do whatever he pleased, whenever he pleased? Including selling me? "I'm headed to a meeting. There are a few folders on my desk; would you file them for me, Clarissa?"

I used every ounce of will power in my body not to smile—he'd just given me the perfect excuse to do what I needed without getting caught. I wondered if he paid enough attention to the order and contents of his filing cabinet to notice if one went missing. Now I regretted not taking the time to make up a fake folder for Stephen Herondale. But what if I—

I had to force myself not to grin again, because I'd just come up with the absolute perfect plan to get away with this seamlessly.

* * *

My father got off on the forty-third floor, and I stayed on to ride all the way up to the fiftieth. His secretary gave an annoyed smile as she noticed me and minimized the open tab where she was playing online poker. I ignored her as I pushed open the doors to my father's office.

As always, it was immaculate. Save for his desk, strewn with piles of paper, folders and pens missing their caps. I closed the open folders and piled them in one arm, opening the appropriate, alphabetized, drawers of the filing cabinet as I went—and lucky for me, one of the drawers was H. I knew that my father filed things according to the letter of the last name or last word of whatever he was filing, so I was positive that the file would be in here. I rooted around for the folder, grinning crazily when I found it, and putting the other one away. I flipped the file face down just in case the security cameras were so good they would pick up on the name on the file.

I went immediately for the copy machine next to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Disappointment and disbelief flooded through me as I put all of three pages on the machine and programmed it.

Disappointment because there were only three pages, and disbelief because I was risking getting caught by my father for this?

While the copier worked, I went to my father's desk and grabbed a pad of sticky notes and one of the pens lying around. _Dad, I photocopied those proposals and reports you wanted me to look at. Maybe I can bore myself to sleep on the plane with them._ I stuck the note on his computer screen so he would be sure to see it.

I glanced to the door anxiously. If I got caught I didn't know what I'd do, even if it didn't look like I was doing anything out of the ordinary.

But I didn't hear footsteps or see the door opening, so I went back to the copier and put the original pages back into the folder, and the folder back into the file cabinet, grabbing and photocopying those proposals and reports so my note was plausible.

I shoved the Stephen Herondale pages in the middle of the stack so that if anyone saw the stack, all they'd see was the boring size twelve font of a proposal introduction.

I smiled at the secretary as my father's office doors fell shut behind me, the package of papers at my side. In the elevator, I watched the unbelievably smug smile on my face in the mirrors as I descended.

* * *

It almost felt like I'd accomplished the impossible—getting away with something and right under my father's nose, no less. But there was still the fact that the Stephen Herondale file was only three measly pages long.

I hadn't looked at them yet—I was leaving that to Jace, because I already had too much to read with these reports. I didn't have much reason to keep doing work for Morgenstern Industries other than I thought there might be some information in all of it that would incriminate Valentine.

I was doubting that, though, as I flipped through the pages in my parked car. I glanced up at the looming apartment building before me, wondering if Jace was pouring over something that could help or if he was just sitting on his ass.

I opened my door and got out, pulling the stack of papers with me. I walked around to the front of the building, pushing through the revolving door. There was a teenage boy standing beside the concierge desk, his hands full of shopping bags as a blonde woman spoke to him. It made me think of all the bags sitting in my car that I'd totally forgotten to grab. I cursed under my breath.

Well I wasn't going back now to get them. They'd just have to wait.

But on my way up to the penthouse I wondered if I should have packed bags at all. What would Jace think if I just showed up lugging seventeen bags filled to the brim? Thinking about his potential reaction made me feel embarrassed.

The elevator came to a stop and I stepped out, heels clicking against the hardwood as I flicked my eyes upwards. Low and behold, Jace, a towel hanging around his narrow hips as he stood by the coffee table, before the massive windows looking out on New York.

Did this guy ever wear a shirt? Seriously.

"Hey," he said. "Where've you been?"

I picked through to the middle of my stack of papers and tossed all of the three pages onto the table between us.

"What's this?" He took a step toward the table and despite myself my eyes went to that damned white towel as it moved. I don't think he noticed, though; he was too focused on those three papers. I wondered if, the way he was looking at them, they were the equivalent of gold.

I crossed my arms over my chest. I was still feeling particularly smug. "The Stephen Herondale file."

His eyes darted up to mine from the pages now clutched in his hands, wide and bright. "You got it? This is _it_?"

"Hey," I held my hands up. "Don't shoot the messenger."

Jace flipped through them. "These are just—just…one is a receipt. This one looks like...Wait, we can use this."

I walked over to him; peering down at the paper he was burning holes into with his eyes as he read over it. "What is it?"

"A record of all the accusations against Valentine when he hired my Dad as his lawyer."

I felt my eyes widen and glanced up at Jace. This meant we had an actual lead. That those papers weren't as completely useless as I thought they might have been. He grinned down at me, and the smile was so filled with…I don't even know, but it made my chest burst with hope.

"So what do we do now? Pick one of the accusations and try to find evidence to back it up?" I asked, a little skeptical. It couldn't be that easy.

Jace sighed. "I'm not completely sure. I mean, look"—he pointed to a particular line that read _Sexual harassment_ —"this one seems like it would be easy enough to follow up on. You know, just kind of observe the way he acts around female employees, how he treats them. Maybe ask around?"

I gave him a disbelieving look. "You think I could just ask around about that sort of stuff and Valentine _wouldn't_ hear about it? I'd probably lose my job."

"Okay, we'll figure something else out." He said, and he said it so calmly and assuredly that I thought I could believe him.

"What about that one?" I asked. " _Knowingly manipulating accounting rules_?"

"That would be a hard one to follow up, unless you have access to financial stuff…which, let me guess, you do." He shook his head.

"Bingo."

"Manipulating accounting rules might as well fall under the same category as corporate fraud because it essentially gives an advantage to the company or an individual and both are illegal."

"Jace, that doesn't really help me."

He considered for a moment. "It's when the person in charge purposely misstates their financial information to better represent the financial performance of the company. It affects the whole financial structure of the company and it can help draw in investors because they think the company is doing so well already. To find it, I'm pretty sure you'd have to look at the footnotes in the financial reports very carefully. They might word it to sound like there isn't anything wrong, but—"

I was staring at him. I had almost no idea what he'd just said; I hadn't caught most of it. I didn't understand most of it. If I was Valentine's successor, why hadn't he taught me about any of this?

"You aren't getting any of this, are you?"

"Not at all."

"Alright," he looked down at the paper again. "We can try _Money laundering_."

"Please define money laundering."

"It's the process of making illegally-gained proceeds, I've heard some people call it making 'dirty money' appear legal, or 'clean'." Jace explained. That sounded a lot simpler than manipulating accounting rules did.

"Okay, we'll do that."

"You're sure?" He sounded skeptical.

"Yes. It sounds fairly simple to look for income that doesn't really have a source. It just appears out of thin air."

"It could be written off as coming from somewhere else."

I nodded, running a hand through my hair. This conversation was exhausting. I glanced up at him again. "Hey, you think I could stay here again tonight?"

He didn't look up from the paper as he spoke. "Yeah, 'course. You're technically my bride, aren't you?" One of his brows went up and I found myself laughing.

* * *

 **Hey, sorry if that whole accusations part was confusing. Quite frankly, I was a little confused by all of it. It's a lot to take in when you're not well versed in business terms and stuff. I'll do my best to clear it up some more next chapter. Anyways, tell me what you thought!**

 **UPDATE: So I posted this last night and I don't know what happened but I checked and it was gone this morning? Why? Anyways, sorry about that. Hope it doesn't happen again though.**


	5. Chapter Four

"Don't you have any food?" I yelled to Jace—who was still staring at those papers like they were the only thing keeping him alive—because it was like staring into a black hole looking into his cupboards.

"Uh, no," he replied distractedly.

"Well why the fuck not?"

He chuckled, and it was much closer. I looked over my shoulder to see him leaning against the counter that kind of separated the living room from the kitchen. "New place."

"Huh. And here I was thinking you were just a neat freak." I closed the cupboard and turned to face him. I opened the fridge again and narrowed my eyes at the empty shelves, willing food to appear.

"What?" Jace made a kind of scoffing sound. "Did you think if you stared at the shelves again some more food would magically appear?"

"A girl can dream," I sighed and shut the door. My head snapped back to him. "Wait, what do you mean ' _again'_? Were you just standing there watching me root through the kitchen?"

A coy little smile. "Maybe."

My mouth popped open just a little. "Creep!"

He snorted. "Let's go out to eat," he suggested.

"Why not just go grocery shopping?" I questioned. His hair was almost completely dry now, in unruly golden curls, and he was still wearing that damned towel. I wondered how the thing hadn't fallen off. I could never get towels to stay up.

"Anything for the girl with connections," he conceded; I smirked.

"And for the love of God," I added, "why are you not wearing a shirt again? Or did you just not put one on today at all?" I challenged.

I watched that muscle in his jaw tick as he took a step closer to me. "Does my not wearing a shirt bother you?"

I mimicked him, taking a step closer. I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes now. "It distracts me, if that's what you mean, neat freak."

He didn't say anything back, just stared at me like he was trying to figure out something. I took note of the impressive facial structure that would have had my mother absolutely itching for a paintbrush. I questioned suddenly why we were just standing there, one of us mostly naked and the other one wanting to grope his abs.

"What do you have to gain from all this?" I asked him, cocking my head to one side, contemplating.

"Who says I have anything to gain? Maybe I'm just trying to help you out."

I pursed my lips. "That's what you said last night, but, see, the thing is I don't believe you. Everyone has a motive. What's yours?"

"Why do I need a motive? Maybe I've got a heart of gold."

I scoffed. "I think," I poked a finger at his chest accusingly, "that you saw an opportunity, and took it."

"What opportunity?" This time he scoffed, rolling his eyes. But I knew I was hitting the nail right on the head; he'd practically already told me his motive this morning.

"You heard that Clarissa Morgenstern was participating in a Win-A-Date auction and thought, _Hey, if I win, I can see if she knows anything about my dad's death on our date_."

"Is that what you think my thought process sounds like?"

"More or less—but do not try to distract me by changing the topic."

He glanced down at my finger still touching his chest. "I thought I was already distracting you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Christ Almighty, can you just answer my question?"

"I think you've already answered it for yourself." His glance moved to the top of my head, and when he met my gaze again, there was a challenge to the set of his features—the slight quirk of his lips, the raised eyebrow.

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JACE," I said, completely and utterly exasperated, throwing my hands up into the air. "Would it actually, literally, kill you to give me a straight answer?"

He feinted contemplation, then, with a smirk that made me want to both pull my hair out of my head by the roots and smack him and push him up against a wall, he said, "Yes."

I scowled fiercely at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of the aggravated groan-slash-screech that wanted to rip out of my throat.

"I better go get dressed," he said, again with that smirk. "Can't have my girl on the inside distracted."

"Whatever, neat freak," I said, letting out a breath and knowing my comeback was as lame as the second Mean Girls movie.

* * *

Jace emerged from his room dressed in tight black jeans and a white t-shirt that was just tight enough it gave not-so-subtle hints about the muscled chest beneath. Oh and did I mention the black jacket? Because, let me tell you, that black jacket was going to be my undoing all on its own.

"Finally ready, your Highness?"

"Perfection takes time, Morgenstern," he said, and I couldn't see his face as he put an arm across my shoulders and we walked towards the elevator, but I knew enough of Jace to guess he was probably smirking.

I patted the pocket of my pants, feeling a slight burst of panic as I wondered if I had lost my lanyard. But it was there, still exactly where I'd put it. Jace, meanwhile, was pulling out his phone from his jeans pocket and using his other hand to push the button that would take us down to ground level.

"What're you doing?" I tried to catch a look at the screen, but wasn't able to.

"What does it _look_ like? I'm calling a taxi," he said at the same time that I said, "Receiving an very important message that says 'Valentine is on his way to jail'?"

Then: "Wait, why are you calling a taxi?" I pulled out my keys, and shook them at him so that they jingled. "I have a perfectly good car parked outside."

He shoved his phone back into his pocket. "Of course you do," he shook his head, seemingly smirking to himself. "Well," he gestured to the opening elevator doors, "lead the way, Morgenstern."

I grinned and led us out of the lobby, feeling impossibly tall and powerful in my heels as they clicked against the floor. I could feel Jace's eyes on me as I walked, and it made me both giddy and annoyed. Of all the gorgeous things to look at in the lobby—the vases utterly overflowing with vibrant flowers, perched atop glass tables that sent a glare my way under the warm light spilling down from the overhead lights—and he was probably staring at my butt.

I pushed through the front door and headed around the building to the parking lot. There was my Stingray, the sun glaring brightly off of the black paint. I glanced over to Jace, who was looking around the parking lot curiously. I could understand why. Every car here was one picture or another of luxury.

I wondered if he was expecting me to own the car I did. I suddenly wondered what he thought of me, what image I projected. Would the type of car I drove change that image? Or would it fortify it?

"Well are you getting in, or…?" I gave Jace a look when we reached my car, absently reaching for the remote hanging from my lanyard to unlock it. My hand wrapped around the door handle and Jace was still just standing there. "Is there a problem or are you just admiring my car?"

His expression shifted to a crooked grin. "Just not what I expected," he said and pulled the door open in one fluid motion, like he'd done this exact same thing a hundred times before.

* * *

"How about this?" I held up a bag of Southwest salad. Jace's nose wrinkled in distaste. I put a hand on my hip. "Are you serious? Is there anything you _will_ eat, your Highness?"

He reached past me and grabbed another bag of salad. He held it up before tossing it into the bright yellow cart. "Caesar? Really Jace? You know they put anchovies in the dressing?"

"You got something against anchovies, Morgenstern?" He cocked a brow.

"No, but I do have something against the fact that you are literally the pickiest eater I've ever met. And I'm best friends with a guy who's a vegetarian and sometimes refuses to eat gluten."

It looked like Jace was admiring the bell peppers when he said, "You have a friend?" He turned around then, a wide grin that I was beginning to become accustomed to pulling up the corners of his very nice-looking mouth.

"Very funny."

"Aren't I?"

I rolled my eyes and pushed the cart towards the bread aisle. Jace headed, instead, for the neighboring mini-aisle displaying butter tarts and Zebra Cakes and Twinkies.

He looked like a little kid staring at all the sugary treats he wasn't allowed to have. He crouched down and picked out a box of Rainbow Brownies, then a box of Swiss Rolls and tossed them both into the cart. We moved further into the bread aisle, and I grabbed a bag of garlic bread—earning me a little, amused smile from Jace.

"We need regular bread, too," he said, and then reached for a loaf of whole wheat.

I gave him and the bag of bread a slightly disgusted look.

"What?"

"It's whole wheat." I told him, eyeing the bread.

"So?"

"It's gross."

"It's good for you," Jace argued, motioning to the bag of bread swinging around in his left hand.

"It's gross." I said again.

"It's not, come on."

"It is! So what if it's good for you if it tastes disgusting?"

He put it in the cart. "It's not disgusting, Morgenstern," he said and turned around, walking towards the meat section.

"You're disgusting," I mumbled, glaring at his back as I grabbed a loaf of white bread. A laugh burst out of him and I couldn't help but smile.

* * *

When we finally got back to the penthouse and dumped the piles of filled-to-the-brim plastic bags that I was sure were seconds away from tearing, I nearly went to work, forgetting that I was supposed to be in LA for the weekend with Simon. I still felt bad for using him as an alibi and not telling him the truth. But I'd opened my mouth before I had even thought through what I was saying. It felt complicated, like if my life were a bunch of strings connecting, those strings were tangled into a massive knot.

But there wasn't much I could do at the moment—besides keep up the pretense of _seeing_ Jace, and try to think of a way around Valentine's threats.

So that left me in the living room of Jace's penthouse after spending half an hour arguing with him over which cupboard was best for what food item. Specifically, which cupboard was best suited to house the pasta we'd bought.

I was sitting on the couch with my now-bare feet tucked under me, pondering how I would bring up my new and moving-very-fast relationship with Jace to my Mom. I couldn't continue to live there, with Valentine constantly peeking over my shoulder, if I wanted this not fully thought-out plan to work whatsoever. I'd never get away with it, and as much as I didn't like the fact—I was scared of my father, of what he could do, of how far his influence reached. If I pissed him off, it wouldn't be like before where I'd lose the promotion I wanted or be given the cold shoulder at dinner; I might wake up to my Mom crying to me over the phone that Sebastian's debts had finally caught up to him and he was dead, I might have to rush to the hospital because my mother had been the victim of a nicely staged attack made to look like a terrible accident.

"What's on your mind, Morgenstern?" Jace was channel surfing, and had been for the past nearly ten minutes. His gaze had now drifted over to me, warm and honeyed.

There was no denying I was attracted to this man, but with bigger things at stake, I pushed aside every thought in my head right now about how soft his hair would feel between my fingers and what it might feel like to scrape my nails down his back— "Oh, you know," I said dropping my head against the back of the couch. "Just my Dad and the fact that he sold me off to the highest bidder and is trying to blackmail me to keep quiet about it."

"Is that what's making you blush?" He was back to channel surfing, but the corners of his mouth were upturned.

* * *

 **So, kind of a filler chapter, but I thought it was fun anyway.**

 **AngelicHallows: It does sound like something Valentine would do, doesn't it? I actually debated doing something like that but I (obviously) liked the alternative better. I'm so glad you like it so far!**

 **WonderPickle: Okay. Where do I start? I loved reading your review. Second of all, I love Hot Cl** **ary** **™ too. I really love writing Clary and JAce the way they are in this fanfic, cause it's a lot different than my other ones where their pitted against each other. Like they're determined to kick some ass and do it together because they know they need each other to do it. I also love what you said about Jace not needing to immediately protect Clary because it allows for so much more...stuff to happen (development and plot and such).**

 **TisITisITheSaltiestFry: Sorry for the very late update! I actually had this half written in my Google Docs for months but just had no clue where to take this chapter. OF COURSE WE'RE GOING TO GET SOME LIGHTWOOD. I can't guarantee any Alec, but definitely some Isabelle, and I'm not sure how many more chapters until she comes in, but she's on her way. Scout's honour.**


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